Broken
by Erileen
Summary: One shot. Dean's wrist is broken, but it might not be the only broken thing after Sam tells him his news.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way, shape, or form**

**Author's Note: Short one shot. My take on the night Sam told Dean.**

**Warnings: Language**

"Shit…" The door to the small house slammed shut as Dean stumbled in, sitting down at the table. Pain laced his arm and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before he opened them, glancing at his left hand. He felt his stomach twist…one thing was for sure, his wrist was definitely broken. He got up and reached into the small freezer, searching for an ice pack.

The door opened and closed again and Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh crap."

"You okay?" Dean turned around and saw Sam coming towards him. "Oh geez…" he whispered once he caught sight of Dean's wrist.

Dean groaned. "Man, what's your problem?"

"I'm really sorry –"

"Yeah, well 'sorry' won't put my wrist bones back together, now will it?" Dean snapped. He found the ice pack and held it to his wrist, stifling a scream. "Fuck…"

"You should probably go to a doctor's, get it set…"

"Sam, I'm fine, okay? I can just wrap it up, I'll be fine."

"Dean, it's broken."

"No shit, Einstein."

"So you should get it set."

Dean tried to flex his fingers and let out a grunt of pain.

"Dean!" Sam yelled. "Come on, you need to go get it set and they'll give you some painkillers."

Dean ignored his brother as he sat down at the table, gingerly touching his wrist with the ice pack. Even the slightest pressure on it made him want to shout.

Suddenly, he felt someone grab him from underneath the armpits and hoist him out of the chair. He yelled as his wrist was jostled and swore loudly and angrily, glaring at his brother. "Sam, put me down."

"Yeah, I'll put you down in the car."

"I'm not going to no fu–"

_"Dean!" _The word, the name, reverberated through the kitchen. It was one word but it had been shouted with such fury it silenced Dean. "Come on," Sam said, softer this time.

Dean complied, and wordlessly made his way to the car, sliding into the passenger seat.

Neither of them said a word until they got to the doctor's, until Dean was being taken back. Sam forced himself to smile and said, "Later."

* * *

Dean hadn't said a word since he got out of the hospital. He'd slid into the passenger seat again with no protest. He'd closed his eyes a few times, as if attempting to sleep, but opened them immediately.

Finally he said, "What happened today, Sam?"

"What?" Sam asked.

"What happened? You got so angry with me for every little thing. What the hell happened with you?"

Sam sighed. "There's a lot going on lately, Dean."

"Care to share?"

Sam sighed. "Not really."

"Okay, fine. I tried to be nice, but now I can't anymore. Sam, what the fuck isgoing on? Usually you're pretty touchy, but lately it seems like everything I do you're getting mad and then today –"

"I said I was sorry for that, Dean."

"We're just sparring one second and then the next thing I know you're attacking me. I thought you were possessed!"

"I heard you shout 'Cristo.''"

"Yeah, you heard that, did you miss it when I was yelling, 'Sam, quit it, my arm doesn't go that way'? I mean, dude, you know as well as I do that when one of us says enough, it means enough!"

"Dean, I _apologized, _what more do you want?"

He turned and looked at his brother for a second. "I want to know what's wrong with you, Sam."

Sam sighed and shook his head, gazing at the road in front of him.

"You know," Dean said, "Dad's going to be pretty pissed you broke my arm."

"He always seems to be angry with me lately, nothing new."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh my God, you are such a drama queen."

"I am not!"

"You exaggerate every little thing, Sam!"

"I – I do _not, _Dean!"

Dean shook his head. "Whatever dude."

Sam started to veer towards the right, and pulled off on the shoulder of the road. He turned off the engine and pulled the keys out of the ignition. Dean stared at him as he stared out the window before he finally turned to him.

"You want to know what's wrong?"

Dean nodded.

Sam sighed. "I got in."

"What?"

"I got accepted, Dean. To _Stanford. _And I – I – what's wrong?"

Dean was staring down at his jacket sleeve, playing with the fraying material with his good hand. "That's great, Sammy. Congratulations," he said softly; emotionlessly.

Sam groaned and pushed his head back into the headrest of the seat. "See, you're mad, _that's _why I've been so up the wall, I knew the both of you were going to get mad!"

"Sam –"

"It's been like carrying a freaking time bomb in my gut, God I can't believe this!"

"Sam."

"It's been driving me insane! This is supposed to be happy and everything, I got a freaking full ride to _Stanford _but I can't be happy about it because –"

"Sam!" Dean cried, exasperated, commanding his brother's attention. He forced himself to smile. "I think this is really great," he said, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "I'm happy for you. Now come on," he said, taking the keys from his brother's hand and pushing them into the ignition, "let's go home, I'm tired."

As they drove, Dean tried to figure out what was hurting him most – his broken wrist or his broken heart.

_end_


End file.
